penetrale domumque
by grizzlybairparty
Summary: penetrale domumque (latin): trans. "hearth and home". / jack's first christmas.


Jack doesn't understand the concept of Christmas. At least, not the way Sam and Dean seem to view it.

Jack understands Christmas at its supposed base form: a celebration of Jesus of Nazareth's birth. Though, Sam tells him, no one but the angels really knows for sure when that exactly was. And none of the angels—save Castiel, whose mind has been wiped too often to remember—are eager to speak with him outside battle.

Sam and Dean definitely view it differently.

"Castiel," Jack calls to Castiel across the library, one late November morning, "why are Sam and Dean bringing a tree inside?" They're bickering as they drag a fake-smelling tree down the bunker steps, neither of them paying Jack or Castiel any mind.

Castiel looks up from the cookbook he's intently studying to answer. "Have I not already spoken to you about how humans celebrate Christmas?" Jack shakes his head. "It draws heavily from many pagan winter solstice traditions, to be honest, but they are enjoyable."

He gets up to gesture at the tree Sam and Dean are now placing in a nook by the library stairs. "The tree is actually a pagan symbol for the winter season. It's to celebrate the hours of daylight getting longer again instead of shorter. I assume Dean will put on his Christmas records soon. It's nice. I'm sure Sam can give an explanation too." He claps Jack warmly on the shoulder, before returning to his chair and continuing to study how to perfectly glaze a ham.

"Sam," Jack calls out across the room, "can you explain Christmas to me?"

Dean snorts to himself while Sam chuckles, both finally setting the tree down where they want it. "Yeah," Sam says, "just give me a second."

Dean wipes his hands clean of needles and heads off into an oft-forgotten hallway. "I'm gonna go find the decorations. Cas, you mind making us some eggnog?"

Castiel looks up from his cookbook and nods. "Sure, Dean." He gets up, neatly sets his book on the nearest table, and heads towards the kitchen.

Sam motions Jack over while he fluffs the tree's many fake branches. Jack feels even itchier closer to it, the smell making him scrunch his nose up.

Sam laughs. "Yeah, it's not the most pleasant this close. But that's why you sit a safe distance from it." Dean walks back in with a box of decorations, the contents rattling. He sets it down by the tree and opens it up, rubbing his hands together with undisguised glee.

"This is Dean's favorite part," Sam explains. Sam reaches into the box and hands Jack an ornament. "Here, try hanging one."

The top of it looks like a fish hook, so Jack attempts to hook it on top of a branch with minor success. It jingles ominously in place before settling, the shiny red surface reflecting Jack's unsure expression back at him.

"You got it," Sam says proudly, dropping a heavy hand onto Jack's shoulder affectionately before he and Dean dress the tree in ornaments with a synchronicity only possible through years of living in each other's pockets.

Castiel returns with four steaming mugs of eggnog precariously balanced in his arms. He sets them down on the table before picking one back up and returning to his chair to read.

"Dean, would you turn the music on, please?" he asks. Dean throws a thumbs-up behind his shoulder as he adjusts one last ornament before stepping back.

"So, this is the point? Decorating?" Jack muses aloud.

Sam laughs again, not unkindly. "No, that's not quite it, but it is part of the fun of the holiday."

"Then what _is_ it about?" Jack asks.

Sam seems to ponder this for a few moments before responding. "Family," he decides on. That's all Jack really needs to hear, anyways; he's spent long enough with the Winchesters to know that's all that truly matters in this confusing world.

Jack smiles broadly then. "And I'm a part of our family, right?"

Castiel looks up over his book, daring Dean to say _something_ , but Dean's still fussing with record player, his turned back disguising the small curl of his lips upward.

Sam smiles back at Jack, full of melancholy and hope. "Yeah, Jack. You're family." He pulls Jack into a brief hug before releasing him to sit down at the table, sipping his eggnog.

"Yours is the non-alcoholic one, Jack," Castiel says idly, not looking up from his book at Jack. Jack pouts, but relents.

They've all been adamant, after the first occasion, about not letting him drink. Castiel and Dean say it's because he's too young; Sam says, while a little loopy on painkillers in the back of the Impala, head in Jack's lap, that it's because the rest of them are too dependent on it, and they don't want Jack to be that way. Jack still isn't sure what Sam meant by that.

Dean finally picks a record and sits down with them. "Now, listen close, Jack," he says in that pseudo-gruff way of his, "this is the most important Christmas album you'll ever hear. Vince Guaraldi's 'Charlie Brown Christmas'."

Jack looks to Sam, who so often loves to fight Dean over music just to push buttons, but he just nods. "It's a classic. The TV special is good too; maybe we can find it for you somewhere."

The record croons along as they all rest. " _Christmas time is here…happiness and cheer…_ "

Sam and Dean drink their eggnog and discuss which Christmas movies they preferred, Dean vehemently defending a movie called "Die Hard", and how it definitely counted as not just a Christmas movie, but the best Christmas movie period. Sam counters with a movie called "It's a Wonderful Life", to which Castiel interjects about false portrayals of angels. They all agree on how enjoyable "Home Alone" is. Jack makes a mental note to watch each movie.

He doesn't realize he's half-asleep at the table until Dean addresses him. "Jack, do you uh…" He scratches the back of his neck nervously, pointedly not making eye contact with him. "Sam's busy," he rolls his eyes, "so do you want to help me make cookies?"

Jack cocks his head. Sam's not actually busy, but Jack can recognize Dean's cautious attempts to reach out. "What kind of cookies?" He's not acquainted with many kinds of cookies, but he knows he likes them.

"Gingerbread," Dean says, "our mom's recipe. One of the only things she actually made, according to her."

"What do gingerbread cookies taste like?" Jack asks.

"Warm, and kind of spicy?" Sam interjects. "But not spicy the way, say, hot sauce is. Spicy as in it's full of baking spices."

"Do they taste good?"

Castiel pipes up then. "I think they do. You might not enjoy them, but it'd certainly be fun for you to help make them." He's eyeing both Jack _and_ Dean now, clearly angling to get them to interact outside hunting and the necessary time they all spend together.

Jacks nods. It's doable. He stands. "I'll come help you make them." The small smile Dean gives him is a reward of its own.

They head into the kitchen together, and he can hear Sam and Castiel softly talking again in the background. The cookies take very little time to make with Dean's careful instructions, but fill the whole bunker with a delicious smell. They bring the cookies out to Sam and Castiel, and they talk the rest of the night away, until Jack is falling asleep on his arm, warm and happy. Sam shepherds him to his room, and all but tucks him in.

It hits Jack, all of a sudden; that this is what a home feels like.

"Sam," he calls out. Sam stops in the doorway and turns around to look at him, expectant. "Thank you."

Sam beams quietly. "You're welcome, Jack."

He shuts the door, and Jack falls into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.


End file.
